Fell Crypsis
by Hithui
Summary: GSR at a crime scene! CSIFO April/May 2013 Fan Fiction Challenge Must include a length of rope, a chicken, a stun gun, a deck of cards, fireworks, a broken mirror, a dead rat and cyanide
1. Chapter 1

**Fell Crypsis**

_CSIFO April/May 2013 Fan Fiction Challenge __(csiforeveronline dot wetpaint dot com)_

_Up to 5000 words; GSR at a crime scene; Must include a length of rope, a chicken, a stun gun, a deck of cards, fireworks, a broken mirror, a dead rat and cyanide_

_AN: This story follows the altered universe of my "Gifts From A Wise Man" story, where Grissom and Sara start a relationship in Season 4. In this story, they have been a couple for approximately two months, though I do try to follow canon where it doesn't fight the dictates of the tale. The story takes place after "Butterflied" 12:04 and before "Suckers" 13:04._

* * *

_Crypsis: the ability of an organism to blend in with its environment_

January 22, 2004

Gil Grissom stared at the crime scene in stunned disbelief. It was all too familiar and all too impossible to be true. His brain rapidly noted the elements of the scene . . . the intricately drawn blood circle, glistening on the floor . . . _**a**_ headless _**chicken**_, white feathers almost aglow in the candlelight . . . the glittering shards of _**a broken mirror**_ refracting blinking neon from the open window . . . _**a deck of**_ tarot _**cards**_ scattered meaninglessly about the grotesque circle . . . and the centerpiece of the macabre display, a blonde female, bound and gagged, her glazed eyes staring lifelessly at nothing.

Gritting his teeth to keep in the profanities that wanted to spew forth, the nightshift supervisor took a cautious step closer to the victim. She was dressed in a red silk nightgown that came to mid-thigh on the young woman – and he had to fight his rising gorge as he realized that Sara had worn the same just a few days before on their shared night off. Forcibly distancing himself emotionally until he was under control once more, he let his eyes drift over the corpse, making a mental note to have David check for burns on the girl's back. _**A stun gun**__ to incapacitate, __**a**__ single __**length of rope**__ to bind and strangle,_ he remembered, eyeing the white cord that cut deep into the murdered woman's throat.

"Well?"

Startled blue eyes snapped up as he spun around, and the CSI Supervisor glared at Captain Jim Brass, then beyond him at the slight smirk on the face of Officer Helike, who stood guard at the doorway of the room.

The blond policeman immediately turned back to his business, but the former Jerseyan just smirked at his friend for a moment. Then he sobered up as he nodded significantly at the dead woman. "So is it real, or Memorex?"

"It **has** to be a copycat, Jim, but whoever it is knows too damn much about the originals," the entomologist growled, as he began to pace. "We caught Emmanuel Jean-Baptiste, aka 'Doktor Haiti' back in 1986, with his tenth victim. His fingerprints, hair and DNA were a match to **all** of the scenes, and there was no evidence that anyone other than Jean-Baptiste was involved!" Grissom turned toward the detective, a mixture of anger and worry clear on his face. "But this scene is laid out precisely as his ten were. Five home-made candles, two red, two white, one black; the body laid out north to south; the way the rope is tied about her; the placement of the chicken and the mirror shards . . . and even though I can't see it, I **know** that we will find burn marks from _**a stun gun**_ on her back, and that the rope will be exactly sixteen feet in length!"

Brow furrowed in puzzlement, Brass asked, "Sixteen feet? Why that length?"

"Four times four is believed to be a very powerful number in Voodoo. 'Neither the Devil, nor his wife, can refuse to help you in working a charm with that number written into it'." Shaking his head in distaste at the perversions some turned a religion into, the CSI Supervisor turned back to their victim. "How did he know our holdbacks?"

Blowing out a long breath, the homicide detective eyed his friend carefully. It had just been a week since Grissom had walked into a scene only to see Sara Sidle's doppleganger poised dead on a bathroom floor. The case had rubbed raw every nerve the senior CSI had, and the captain didn't want to think how much worse it could have been. _At least he figured things out with Sara __**before**__ facing off with Lurie._ For a moment his mind drifted back, recalling how gently the teary-eyed brunette had treated the weary entomologist, her softly whispered, "I'm still here," all that had been needed to get the exhausted man on his feet and heading out of LVPD in her care. While Grissom seemed back to his stoic self, there was an edginess to him tonight that worried the veteran cop. And there was an almost visible manic energy projecting from the man now. "What is it, Gil? What are you seeing?"

"It's what I'm not seeing . . . the pieces don't fit . . ." the CSI muttered. "Why pick this serial to copy? Why wait so long? The Blue Paint Killer's return made a sick sense – he was letting us know that Mathers was the knock-off on the eve of his execution . . . But this? Jean-Baptiste was killed in prison a year after he was sentenced to life." Grissom shook his head, continuing to stare at the corpse. "A visually perfect scene – but the numbers are wrong . . ."

A noise outside the room drew the attention of both men, and they turned to see the arrival of David Phillips.

_TBC ..._


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Brass helped the nightshift supervisor load the last of the evidence into the back of the Denali. "So you want to tell me why you didn't call any of your posse to help you with this? I would have thought with the cases tonight that at least one of the ladies could have been spared to help you out?"

Before he'd half finished, Grissom was shaking his head. "I don't _want_ Catherine or Sara anywhere near this!" At the detective's surprised look, the entomologist sat down on the tailgate, scrubbing at his face in agitation. "You weren't in Vegas when the original 'Doktor' was on his spree . . . I'd only been here a year, and I still wasn't used to the amount of gawkers that would show up at scenes in this city. We didn't have the tape back far enough, and the crowd could see everyone we had working the scene. One of the officers was a bright young woman who liked helping out the 'geek squad' . . . Laurel Johnson . . ." Sad blue eyes looked up at the stars overhead. "She fit the profile for Jean-Baptiste's victims – blonde, petite, lived alone – and she was his tenth kill."

Closing his eyes, Brass winced; he knew the pain of losing a fellow officer on the job. By the time he'd opened them again, Grissom had regained his feet and was closing the hatch.

"I won't risk the chance this copycat will go further off-script than he already has. I'll talk to dispatch after I check in the evidence – and I'll make sure the guys know to keep an extra eye on the gals."

"Oh, they'll _love_ that!" Brass snarked, knowing how independent both the ladies of the nightshift were.

"I can handle them being mad at me," Grissom rejoined tiredly, moving around to climb into the driver's seat. "But I won't risk their lives for their pride." Then, with a nod to the detective, he drove off.

* * *

Sitting in his darkened office, Grissom futilely massaged his temples – the headache had gained too much ground to stave off much longer. He just hoped he could prevent it turning into a migraine. Catherine's tirade had been expected, though he thought slamming his office door in her pique had been a bit much. The mixture of emotions from Sara had also been expected: puzzlement, concern, irritation and a brief flash of anger all shone in her dark brown eyes before she, too, had left the meeting, Nick and Warrick trailing almost sheepishly after her, closing the door softly behind them.

With shift drawing to a close, the graveyard supervisor was trying to summon enough energy to head home, and wondering if he'd have the company he so needed right now. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, pondering the facts that he had so far . . . then shook his head in frustration. _Until Doc finishes the autopsy, I'm just guessing. And with a gang shootout from Days, and the traffic fatalities that the team was dealing with, Al won't have her done until tomorrow._

A subtle change in the air around him, accompanied by a tingle up his spine, told him that she'd returned. A soft smile curled his lips, and he whispered her name. "Sara."

"That's me," she murmured, her husky voice gentle and low. "Ready to head home?"

"More than." Rising to join her at the door, he added in a whisper, "I just wasn't sure it would be with you." He wrapped his arm around her waist as they headed toward the parking lot.

Sara waited to answer until she had him in the passenger seat of her Prius. "I thought about that, briefly," she admitted, heading in the direction of his townhouse. "But I stopped in the morgue–"

"To make sure this wasn't a repeat of the Marlin case?" Grissom smirked at the glower she shot him. Her muttered, "Witchcraft." made him chuckle and squeeze her hand lovingly.

"Anyway, while I may not like having the guys 'babysit' me, I understand your concern, and I won't fight it – as long as you don't shut Catherine and I out of this completely."

An eyebrow arched in amusement at the vehemence of her tone, but he gently nodded in agreement.

"We'll be home soon . . . just rest, Bugman."

* * *

"Will you need your migraine pills?" Sara asked, eyeing the tired man worriedly as they slowly wended their way up the front walk.

"No, I think I'll be alright with–" Stopping abruptly, Grissom was suddenly very alert, eyes staring at his front door . . . which was slightly ajar.

Before either of them could react further, squealing brakes sounded behind them, and the area was bathed in flashing blue and red lights.

Grissom turned, his body between Sara and any oncoming threats, only to see a pissed off Jim Brass barreling toward them.

"Don't either of you answer your goddamn phones?!" the detective growled.

The entomologist's hand dropped to his belt before he remembered he'd left both his phone and pager on his desk; at the same time the brunette was pulling her silenced phone from her purse. "Mine's on vibrate . . ." she winced, seeing the numerous missed calls.

As the homicide captain's eyes swept over the pair, he glimpsed the open door, and realized he'd caught the couple before they'd had a chance to reach it. Pulling his pistol, he signaled the officers that had held back until now to join him. "Gil, Sara, go wait by the cars," he ordered.

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the long wait, hoping the next part will be up faster!_


End file.
